


the language of boys

by themissinglenk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin
Genre: M/M, from tumblr, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themissinglenk/pseuds/themissinglenk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Step one: open mouth; step two: insert foot. Fuck you very much, Jean knew this routine all too well. // from tumblr, open prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the language of boys

There was a thing with boys—an innate and fundamental pattern of thoughts and set of natural law, woven into the fiber and impulses of their very being. Rules of possession, for instance, and rules of loyalty; chivalry, and betrayal, and blood ties and the unthwartable value of dignity, integrity, trust. All these things existed in the same category as unspoken responsibilities like proving yourself and maintaining your virility, or being the man of the house when your old man is nowhere to be found, or defending the weak and pure and defending the women in your life. Gallant, desperate ideals, like being the best at something or fulfilling others’ hope as a leader—fit to break a man’s soul at the slightest hint of failure, seemingly pointless and confusing to those who didn’t have such poignant codes hardwired into them.

All of this was perhaps the reason likeminded and hardheaded boys _fought_ , because when the words went round in circles and all your comrades rolled their eyes (because on the outside, they all knew you were _too alike_ ), actions often spoke louder than words and boys were usually more fluent in the language of fists.

But in that same vein of passion and principles, boys had to be keenly aware of when they accidentally crossed a line, like when behind the barracks of the bleak 104th training grounds Jean Kirschtein threw off an entirely too-good roll of clever comebacks and dominating quips with an awful slip of tongue like:

“At least the rest of us don’t piss the bed about our moms and dads getting swallowed—”

Oh.

Shit.

The feeling behind that one had been completely different than the utterly disastrous execution. Step one: open mouth; step two: insert foot. Fuck you very much, Jean knew this routine all too well.

The way the eager scowl on Eren Jaeger’s face justifiably shattered into a look of absolute horror and pain was perhaps one of the worst things Jean had seen in a long time, and it was especially bad because it was his fault and it was bad because he couldn’t remember Eren looking at anyone with such empty traumatized eyes ever, and it was _bad_ because with someone as half-cocked as Eren, what were you to expect after a cold and broken stare like that?

It was like the rustle of wind through the grounds in their recreational break had become one with the chorus of peanut gallery _Ooohhh_ s and other remarks from passersby looking on from a safe distance.

“You know he killed three men,” a girl from the East with an uncle in the MP whispered to another.

In a split-second, they were a tangled knot of punches and elbows and knees, hands desperate for purchase clawing at sleeves and shoulders. And then—when Jean had thought he’d already reached the pinnacle of _bad_ —it got worse—and he felt like the ultimate dunce.

Boys didn’t cry, but Eren was _bawling_.

And when he stopped throwing hits, he just sat there on top of Jean, strange heat and real person weight, toes dug into the ground and knees shaking against Jean’s sides.

Vicious stab of guilt. Regret. Fucking stupid. Fucking idiot. Your fault. Terrible human being. Just because you didn’t get along with someone (because you were vaguely jealous of their reckless drive and unswaying passion when all you could do was come up with logical backfires and reason your way into self-doubt) didn’t mean you had to rub their mother’s death in their face like that. That had been unnecessarily cruel and God fucking dammit, Eren never thought before he talked, either, why didn’t _he_ ever get the ultimate punishment for saying the wrong damn thing?

Jean did the first thing he could think of.

He pried at Eren’s elbows, trying to get to his face. Eye contact. You could say a lot through eye contact when your foot-in-mouth disease flared and your tongue utterly failed you. It took a good minute of wrestling to free Eren’s sobbing scowl from his arms but free it Jean did, and then he yanked the son of a bitch into a headlock of a hug, offhandedly conscious they were still on the ground and people were staring but far too concerned about this odd and uncomfortable wave of panic in the wake of a personal flaw.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Hissing whispers, hiccups in his ear, gasps for breath as the 104th’s resident maniac struggled to calm himself, fingers curled so tight in Jean’s shirt, he could feel them trembling. Hot knuckles. _Life_. Why was his heart pounding so hard? “Eren, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, can you stop, everyone’s staring, look, I don’t know how many more times I can drag an apology out so seriously, I’m sorry, will you let it go?”

Kiss. Apologetic kiss to the temple and the sweaty hair like he’d seen of brothers and cousins and parents. And it had felt so natural and it had felt instantly fitting, and as awkward as it was clinging there together in the dirt, both with arms shaking and eyes wide with revelation, Jean didn’t want to let go. Not until his hands ached and his arms were stiff. Not until he memorized the way Eren looked up at him through his hair like that, such haunting eyes. Sear it into the soul, this moment of vulnerability and forgiveness. Because it was moments like these that would surely get you through in inevitable battle.

When they separated without another word, nobody asked any questions. Nobody heckled.

(Ymir would more than likely make a snarky comment in a day or two, after the obvious tension receded.)  

But it was an unspoken thing between boys, and nobody wanted to ruin it and nobody had the right to intrude.

 

_**end.** _


End file.
